


Good Girl Gone Bad

by Fogfire



Category: Mission: Impossible (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 11:44:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16387163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fogfire/pseuds/Fogfire
Summary: Prompt: “I was just kind of hoping that you’d… you know… fall in love with me.”





	Good Girl Gone Bad

“I will be at the Park. Third bench on the right; beat me at chess and you get a name.”

At first, it had been exciting.

It was his mission, his alone.

And yes, Benji had been scared, too, just a little bit. Enough to keep him on edge, to keep him cautious.

Not enough to stay behind, even though Ethan wanted him too.

There were too many questions.

Why would the daughter of a drug lord want to talk to him? You had been fairly direct in your messages, telling them that your father was planning on selling you off like a piece of meat, aiming to strengthen his business by marrying you off to the right guy. But a direct answer is not always an honest one. And you did not even try to give them a half-assed explanation on why you wanted to talk to Benji Dunn, Agent, and no one else.

He steps into the Park. A bulletproof vest strapped to his chest, armed with a gun, a chessboard, and his wit.

“Stay calm, alright?”

Oh yes, and the voice of Ethan in his ear.

He turns the corner, his steps never faltering. There are sharpshooters waiting for you to make a mistake, he has nothing to fear.

The third bench on the right sits a young woman he has only seen on pictures. He steps closer.

“Care for a game?” He holds up his board.

“I don’t have a gun,” you tell him with a smile that did more damage than a gun ever could.

“I don’t have one either,” he lies and takes a seat at your table.

“Liar,” you call him out and help him set up the game.

“I’ll pick white,” you tell him, twirling the queen between your fingers before putting it down, “White draws first.”

“But Black wins.”

“We will see about that,” you tell him, drawing your pawn.

He loses. You smile, stopping halfway through your story about the time you’ve gone to Paris as a child.

Stories like that had filled the time they had spent playing. Innocent stories about places they had liked as children, presents they remembered getting and the likes.

You get up without further ado.

“Next week, same time, same place.” You lean down and kiss his cheek while righting the collar of his jacket before you turn around and leave with a wave of your hand towards no one in particular.

Benji sits there, dumbfounded until he realizes that there’s something poking the skin of his neck on the left side. When he touches the collar there his fingers touch a piece of paper, folded up into a star.

He unfolds it carefully only to find a name written out.

A name every week. That’s the deal.

But you’re slipping more and more information into your conversations, enough to make Brandt decide that Benji needs to wear a recorder.

You notice it immediately, keeping quiet for the whole time he stays there. This time you kiss him on the lips.

He keeps his eyes open, knowing he has to and he looks right into yours that are wide open too.

One month into this, he’s starting to like you.

After your fourth meeting, you start to meet him twice a week.

Three months in you’re meeting him almost daily. You kiss him on the lips every single time, slipping your hands into his hair.

Three months in he realizes that he’s falling for you, falling even more with every word you say, every smile you send his way.

You’re like an open book to him, at least you present yourself this way.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Ethan warns him more than once.

Your eyes stay open every time you kiss. He has their color burned into his memory.

“We could run away,” you tell him five months in.

Rumours are going around that the fateful wedding will be in less than two weeks.

You’ve had to cancel some meetings last minute, but with the data they’ve collected by now, they will be able to take down the whole cartel before that.

“Where would you want to go?” He asks and you laugh dryly.

“Where would we go?” You ask back, “I am too well known. I could flee the country, try to make an honest life somewhere else. But you? There’s no place in the world you could be hidden from the organization you work with. There’s no running away for you.”

“I don’t have to run away from it.”

You pick up your springer and look at him.

“And you would give up your work to be with me? I don’t believe you.” You set the piece back down, dangerously close to his king.

“I love you.” He regrets his words the moment he speaks them. But he can’t take them back anyway.

You look at him, not saying a word and he pushes his king to the side until it falls.

The meaning of this move: Surrender.

“I was just kind of hoping that you’d… you know… fall in love with me,” he mumbles when you pick up his king.

“I’m glad I didn’t,” you say without looking at him. You get up and he scrambles to get to his feet as well. You hold up your hand.

“Don’t. I will send the rest you need. Just make sure there will be no wedding.”

-

When the wedding takes place, Benji has to sit on the sidelines.

He’s not even allowed to sit in a Van around the corner, listening in on the conversations of the agents storming the building.

He has to stay at the office, sneaking off to hack himself into the data feed to listen in on them anyway.

They storm the building. Someone starts shooting. In the end, almost half of the present cartel members are dead or fatally wounded, with two of the agents badly injured as well. There’s no sign of the bride at first.

They find her in one of the backrooms. Dead, fingerprints burned off, her face beat up. They need DNA to identify her.

It’s not you, that’s all the information Benji gets.

They ask him a lot of things about you. Where you are. What you talked about. If you have gotten into contact with him.

He says “I don’t know.”. He tells them the stories you’ve told. He says “No, she hasn’t tried to contact me since the last meeting in the park.”

Eventually, they let him leave. That’s not the same as believing him, but it’s a start.

image  
By the time he gets home, it’s dark outside.

He lights up his apartment, makes himself a cup of tea.

When he takes down his favorite cup, there’s something clinking against the sides of the cup. He looks inside, only to find a chess piece. A black king.

His black king.

You have been here.

He turns the piece three times, but only finds out its secret when he puts it on the table and it falls down. You’ve taken off the bottom and glued it on crooked.

He cuts it off to find a piece of paper, rolled up and stuffed inside.

Two words and a kiss pressed onto the paper.

He recognizes your handwriting, your lipstick, the form of your lips.

“Thank you,” the note says.

He never hears from you again.

-


End file.
